OUT OF ORDER

At Supermarkets, the Hunter Stalks Prey

By DAVID BOUCHIER

Published: March 9, 1997

STARVATION is not a major risk factor on Long Island. Our whole landscape is a celebration of the unfettered human appetite, with a fast-food emporium on every block from Valley Stream to Montauk Point. In between the pizzas and burgers, there are thousands of delis, convenience stores, cafes, diners, restaurants, coffee shops, ice-cream stores and, of course, supermarkets. But supermarkets seem almost redundant in this edible landscape. Who would cook and eat at home, when there are so many businesses out there waiting to do it all for you?

The truth is that supermarkets satisfy a deeper need. Not long ago, our hunting and farming ancestors had to struggle for food. Every meal they put on the table was the result of hard work, skill and often danger. A visit to Burger King is just not the same. So supermarkets have learned to reproduce the thrill of the hunting experience. We enter with hope and anxiety and, if the hunt goes well, we exit through the automatic doors in a state of exhaustion and exultation. That's why, in spite of vigorous efforts to build loyalty and brand image, all supermarkets look the same. Like football fields, they are all designed for the same game.

The thrill of the hunt begins in the parking lot, jockeying with ruthless seniors for the place nearest to the entrance. The instinct to get as close as possible to the food source is built deep into our genes. Then comes the first trial of emotional strength. Just inside the door is the dreaded free-sample woman, with her coupons and cookies, trying to distract us from the true object of the hunt. The food companies say that 95 percent of those who take a sample go on to buy the product; but not me. I am a hunter not a gatherer, and I have a list that does not include Oreo cookies or miniature egg rolls, free or not. I pass the astonished woman without gathering a single coupon.

Vegetables and flowers are arranged near the entrance, to give a feeling of entering the jungle. There may even be coconuts or yams just inside the door to enhance the effect. Then it's like a video game: new food products keep popping up in your path to keep the adrenalin going and the saliva flowing. You are ambushed by mid-aisle displays of Moon Pies, doughnuts, pretzels, cheese cakes and other fat-enhanced treats. Last week, great chunks of aisle space were taken up by Easter bunnies and chocolate eggs, only three weeks ahead of time.

The serious hunter must ignore all these distractions and stay focused. The winding aisles are like a dense forest. Any kind of food might be hiding just out of sight on the other side. The science of shelf management creates a feeling of suspense and discovery. Could there be meat just around this corner? No, it's baked beans and powdered potatoes, so on to the next aisle.

Supermarket managers in pursuit of a Ph.D. in shelf management are sent to the great game parks of Africa to study hunting psychology. One piece of wisdom they bring back is that the optimum height of a product is 51 to 53 inches off the floor, which is just where, in the state of nature, a good-sized dinner animal would meet your eye.

There are limits to what even the most educated shelf manager can do to make your visit an adventure. Boring things like cleaners and paper products must be squeezed in after the fruit and vegetables. Then come utilitarian shelves of canned vegetables and rice, and an apologetic international section with garbanzo beans, salsa and soy sauce.

But deeper into the forest of shelves you begin to find the real stuff -- cat food, potato chips, beer and soda, followed by soups and cereals, coffee and tea, bread and cakes. Nothing is quite where you would expect to find it in a real jungle, which adds to the suspense. After the packaged carbohydrates come cookies, desserts and juice, followed by oils and pastas. Then the pharmacy section with great displays of indigestion remedies. It begins to make a strange kind of sense.

Health food is well-hidden in the average market. It took me 10 minutes to find a shameful little shelf of health and diet products, hidden away between firelogs and disinfectants. Hunters don't worry about fat and cholesterol, and all the medical publicity seems to have made no impression at all on our hunting and eating habits. If an alien dietician arrived in our local food emporium, she would assume that the four major human food groups are soda, doughnuts, cookies and ice cream and that supermarkets offer a more subtle version of assisted suicide.

Oddly enough, food safety is a big issue. Food must be safe, even if it kills you. So everything is labeled to death, and this gives the hunter a new sense of danger. Is any of this stuff all right to eat? What is sodium caseinate? How much ferrous sulphate should a hunter eat in an average week? This reproduces the thrills that our ancestors must have had pondering over unknown roots or mushrooms.

At last, deep in the back of the shelving jungle, the right and true object of the hunt comes in sight: the meat counter. And here the superiority of the modern supermarket becomes obvious. Instead of having to do battle with bad-tempered and uncooperative animals, the hunter can pick up his or her dinner in a nice sanitized packet, often with a recipe suggestion attached.

This brings your hunt to a sucessful conclusion. You can bypass the frozen food section and drag your prey out the door while it is still fresh. But there is one last obstacle to overcome: the checkout, with more candy temptations, and the literary equivalent of candy on the magazine shelves. I don't mind paying the bill and eating the candy. It's the brown bag that ruins the whole effect.

Drawing. (P. C. Vey)

David Bouchier of Wading River is an essayist and commentator heard regularly on public radio.